


Who You Belong To

by RandomRyu



Category: BioShock
Genre: Gore, M/M, Mind Control, Violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-22
Updated: 2014-11-22
Packaged: 2018-02-26 14:13:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,058
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2654990
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RandomRyu/pseuds/RandomRyu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The word “ATLAS” stood out obvious and grisly on the boy’s back. A sick smirk slowly spread across the Irishman’s features, and he chuckled to himself.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Who You Belong To

Jack knelt on the hard floor of Atlas' office, which was much more like a safe house. Hidden away and sealed off from any threats, the only opening was a sliding wooden door low to the ground that was always covered by a few stay wooden boxes. It was easy to find, but the splicers didn't have the thought to look for such an opening when they prowled around the area, and if they heard Atlas speaking on the inside, they just looked around in confusion and called out to the ceiling, spitting out profanities. It was warmer than the chilling halls of Rapture, but it still had a certain twinge of coldness to it like every area in the underwater city had. The floor was mostly wood, but circular and rectangular rugs covered patches of the hardwood paneling in spots, the rugs having small catches in the threading and worn out from shoes plodding over the fabric repeatedly. 

Even though there was decently soft carpets on the floor, Atlas had told Jack to kneel on the wooden section. It didn't particularly bother Jack, for he was mostly confused as of why he would need to kneel, since the Irishman said nothing of what was about to partake.

The brunette sat there in silence, hands resting on his knees. His belongings and weapons had been set aside on the way in the the safe house, only leaving him with his electricity, the plasmids running through his veins; still having something to defend himself with. But he wouldn't hurt Atlas. No, he would never hurt the man that helped him survive thus far and has lead him through this hellhole of a city. If it wasn't for Atlas, he was sure that he would be dead and harvested from by a little sister already; looted for his money and weapons and left to rot on the damp tiles somewhere dark. 

He could hear Atlas' shoes tapping on the wood as he prepared for whatever was to come, opening up drawers and humming to himself as he shuffled through them. He couldn't see what he was doing thanks to his back facing the desk. Jack wanted to turn around, to ask what he was doing, but he pursed his lips and kept his mouth shut longer, his eyes cast down, watching his hands as they rested on his thighs.

"Alright, boyo," Atlas suddenly spoke, startling Jack slightly. That voice was still behind him. "Thank you for being so patient. Now, would you kindly take off that filthy sweater?"

Jack wanted to ask questions, but before he could open his mouth, he started to go through with the almost mechanical motion of removing his sweater; only now realizing how filthy it actually was. Damp with sweat and salt water and splashed with browned, dried and fresh blood. He made a mental note to ask Atlas later if he could possibly wash it or borrow something if it was possible to.

Placing his sweater next to him on the floor, he placed his hands on his clothed thighs once again and waited for the Irishman to talk once more.

"Good boy, " Atlas praised him, the clicking of dress shoes coming closer to the brunette. An odd chill ran through Jack. He had to admit that the smooth accent and low baritone of Atlas' voice excited him, especially when he was praised. "Now, just stay where you are."

Jack felt like his feet were starting to fall asleep from sitting on them for an extended amount of time, but that thought melted away when he felt the tips of the Irishman's fingers brush over his bare shoulder, the man's touch warmer than he thought it would be.

"My, you're such a petite little thing." Atlas muttered to himself, his fingers trailing up Jack's neck and threading through his thick, overgrown hair that hung almost over his eyes at this point. Jack shivered, tilting his head to the side involuntarily; sighing as he was practically pet. A sigh fell from his lips, subtly leaning to Atlas' touch as he combed his fingers through his hair, finding the action completely soothing.

The soft touches continued, Atlas' fingers ghosting back down Jack's neck and shoulder until they reached his back. Atlas worked soft, light circles into Jack's pale skin, feeling the bumps of his spine beginning to protrude from lack of nutrition. Those fingers worked lower and lower, and Jack wanted to look back and see what those hands were doing to him. He could feel rough calluses on the tips of those fingers, hardened by years of work.

Suddenly, Atlas trailed only his index finger upwards on the curve of Jack's back until he was up near the boy's shoulders once more. The whole motion, Jack squirmed slightly; emitting a quiet moan that made Atlas smirk to himself. This kid was putty in his hands.

He traced over the boy's shoulder blades, spelling out a word, observing if there was enough space on that petite frame to fit it. After a few slow, languid strokes across the kneeling male's back and a few more shaky sighs, he pulled his hand back.

Reaching into his pocket, Atlas pulled out a narrow switchblade; pressing the small button on the handle, making it snap out into place. Jack paused at the sound, turning his head slightly before Atlas reached forwards with his free hand and caressed Jack's hair before pulling it slightly to make him look forwards again, earning a wince from the boy.

"What are you--"

"Sh sh sh," Atlas shushed the other male, keeping a firm though relaxed grip on the boy's hair. "Just relax. You trust me, don't you?"

Jack opened his mouth to speak, but it came out a stutter when he felt the tip of a blade trail barely over the skin of his shoulder blades. "Y-Yes--"

"Good, good." Atlas' voice dropped an octave, kneeling down next to Jack, one knee on the floor for balance. "So just relax, boyo."

Jack let out a shaky sigh as Atlas' hand trailed down his neck once more, fingers curling around one bony shoulder with a firm grip to keep him in place. Atlas tilted the blade so the top section rested against Jack's skin. And that's when he started to apply pressure to the blade, the sharpened steel digging into Jack's skin. Jack shuddered and gasped, his hands resting on his clothed thighs grabbing at the fabric of his pants.

Atlas tilted the the blade to the side so he could cut down slowly, diagonally across the top half of Jack's back; warm blood spilling from the wound and standing out against the paleness of Jack's sickly skin tone. Once one cut was done, he added another just on the other side, slanting to the right to make a bloody, jagged arch. Blood ran down Jack's back and seeped into the fabric of his pants; bitter tears running down his flushed cheeks as he let out a sob, his shoulders shaking with emotion. 

With one more quick, precise swipe, another slash right in the middle of the arch was added.

The letter 'A' stood out in thick, gruesome red lines across Jack's left shoulder.

Jack sobbed and grabbed at the fabric of his pants, his hands curled into tight fists to try and level the searing pain he was feeling from the deep wounds made by the man that he still somehow trusted.

"There, there...good boy. You're doing great, lad." Atlas' smooth, charming voice sounded right near Jack's ear. "Just hang in there."

Atlas gave no warning when he moved to the right a bit, making two deep, sudden slashes with the flick of his wrist. Jack sobbed harder now, almost falling forward from the dizzying pain; wanting to arch his back, scoot forward, to just get away from that blade and get out of this office, out of Atlas' presence.

The letter 'T' was now carved into Jack's skin.

"Two down, three more to go..." Atlas whispered to himself, feeling full of power over the shuttering boy beneath him. His hand still clamped on Jack's shoulder, he began to place feather-light kisses over Jack's neck; grazing his teeth over the skin and sucking on certain patches, worrying the flesh between his teeth before dragging his tongue over the forming bruise before beginning the process once more. This left Jack tensing up, unable to control his cries as he sobbed and groaned; his nails digging into the flesh of his palms from the tightness of his clenched fists.

"Would you kindly stay still for me?" Atlas growled, the hand on Jack's shoulder squeezing particularly roughly before moving down to the other male's petite waist; running his fingers over visible ribs and protruding hipbones before resting his hand on Jack's hip, his grip holding firm to the point of possible bruising. He continued to make his way over Jack's neck, pulling blood to the surface and even breaking the skin a few times only to find a metallic, coppery taste on his tongue. The underlying taste of ADAM made his veins buzz with excitement, even more so because of the situation he was tasting it in. Jack stayed still as Atlas commanded him to, but the expressions crossing his face that made his nose scrunch up and his teeth grind together signified that he was mentally bursting at the seams with a variety of emotions that he couldn't pinpoint; hot tears streaming down his cheeks and dripping off his chin and eyebrows furrowed together.

At this point, Atlas was resting on his knees. Unlike Jack, he wasn't sitting on his feet, so he was a bit taller than the other; leaning down enough to do all of this damage.

Pulling back from Jack's neck for the time being, placing a kiss to the spot right under his jawline before he did so, the Irishman gripped the handle of the switchblade firmly as he placed it right next to the 'T.' 

This time it was two easy swipes and the portion was done. Jack let out a quiet sob, muffled from biting his lip to the point of bleeding. He could taste his own blood flooding his mouth as he broke the skin, but he couldn't find the room to care when there was even more blood pouring down his back.

The letter 'L' joined the other two carvings on Jack's skin.

Atlas observed his work so far for a moment, feeling satisfied. But there was two more letters, two more permanent scars to make on Jack's skin.

"Two more, boyo. You're doing so, so well..." Atlas' voice dropped an octave or so to a low purr, making Jack shiver for another reason. Even through all of the fear and the pain that he was enduring at the moment, Atlas' charismatic, attractive voice made something burn deep inside of him and his cheeks burn with shame at his lust. Hearing it so clear and crisp, unaltered by the static of a radio made those feelings burn even brighter, even more intensely. Atlas was well aware of what his voice did to the boy, and he wouldn't be lying if he said that he was very pleased with that fact. He realized that even when he didn't use those three words Jack followed his orders well. Paired with the phrase, it made Jack's reactions even more entertaining. 

With flushed cheeks and that devilish smirk gracing his features, Atlas kneaded at Jack's hip roughly as he made three more gashes with three quick, sharp flicks of his wrist; mimicking the carving he first made.

Another 'A' added to Jack's back.

Jack still shivered and sniffled often, whimpering when sharp twinges of pain traveled through his body. He was used to electricity sparking through his veins and fire singing the tips of his fingers and burning his blood, built up a tolerance for the pain that came with using plasmids. But this was a different sort of pain that Atlas had inflicted on him, a physical and mental anguish that made him feel like he was going to drop and pass out at any second. Even though he wanted to get up and run, intrusive thoughts told him otherwise. He needed to stay still, needed to be good for Atlas, be good for Atlas and you'll get his praise, you'll get his adoration-

Jack's jumbled thoughts were interrupted by the blade digging into his back one last time, being dragged in a jagged formation with curves. This was the most painful carving, for Atlas was digging the blade deep, deep into Jack's flesh to the point of just grazing his shoulder blade bone; a scream erupting from the brunette that rung through the office. Atlas chuckled, continued to slowly pull the stained blade through Jack's vulnerable flesh, watching how Jack's skin parted and out flooded thick, dark blood over his hands and the switchblade; down Jack's back and spattering and smearing on Atlas' shirt.

The final letter, a hideous 'S', was carved into Jack's skin.

When he finally pulled the blade out of Jack's skin, he closed it with a dull 'click' and slipped it into his pocket, not bothering to clean it at the moment. He pulled both hands back from Jack, crossing his arms over his chest as he looked over his work. The blood from the first few letters were ceasing to flow already and drying down his back; still gushing from the final two letters and creating streams of gore down his petite frame. Dark bruises littered his thin neck, blooming from his almost colorless, sickly skin in reds and purples; indents of teeth framing these wounds. On Jack's hip and shoulder were light bruises from Atlas' firm grip.

Aftershocks of pain coursed through Jack, making him twitch here and there; quiet, pathetic whimpers falling from his lips. 

Atlas, feeling satisfied with the results, stood up and walked around Jack so that he was standing in front of the boy, finally able to see his face. Jack's hair was a mess, he had a black eye most likely from a splicer slugging him in the face, and his cheeks burned red; bottom lip bloody from biting into it to keep in the screams and tears still leaving trails down his cheeks. He looked like a perfect, bloody mess, kneeling on the floor and covered in bruises and blood. His hands laid in loose fists on his thighs.

Taking a few steps to the side so that he could tilt his head and see Jack’s backside, he admired his work. 

The word “ATLAS” stood out obvious and grisly on the boy’s back. A sick smirk slowly spread across the Irishman’s features, and he chuckled to himself.

“You did well, boyo.” Atlas stood up, ruffling the boy’s hair almost playfully. It would have been a playful gesture, anyway, if they weren’t in such a macabre situation. “I’m proud of you. Didn’t think you’d handle it so well, but here you are.” He locked eyes with Jack in the moment that he looked up and met the Irishman’s eyes, the standing male nodding subtly over Jack’s form.

“Now, here.” He picked up Jack’s damp sweater, shaking it out for a moment before looking it over. “Stand up, boyo. Can’t have you sitting on the floor all day. There’s no time to waste, you have jobs to get done and places to be. C’mon.” He offered a hand down to Jack, who sniffled and stood up slowly and shakily with the aid of Atlas’ hand gripping his; taking his sweater when it was handled to him.

“There you go. Now, would you kindly put that back on? Can’t have you running around shirtless.” He had to admit that would be interesting, though. Everyone, everything would see those nasty cuts on his back. Everyone would know who Jack really belonged to.

Jack did as he was told, getting a zoned out glaze in his eyes that lasted throughout the task and looking back at the man with an expression that could only say,”why?” as he continued to wince and sniffle when the fabric of the sweater rubbed against the wounds.

Jack wanted to ask what Atlas had done. How he carved up his flesh. But the question of why couldn’t go past Jack’s lips, so he just stood there in an almost awkward silence. His feet tingled with a weird prickly feeling, recovering from falling asleep while he was kneeling and putting all of his weight on them.

The silence that passed for a few long moments was heavy and tense, the two males locking eyes. One standing tall with power and the other practically cowering and whimpering in submission.

“Go on, get your things.” Atlas broke the silence, that cocky smirk still shaping his lips and making his eyes dark. He followed Jack casually as he gathered up his weapons, ammo and such. It took him a few minutes, since his hands wouldn’t stay still and cooperate with his movements; fumbling with the ammo and trying his best not to shake so much that he would spill it all. The boy was so, so silent and broken, and Atlas was pleased.

Atlas walked Jack to the small, sealed off opening of the safe house, whistling a tune as they went.

“Alright, boyo. You gotta go. Now, would you kindly man up and stop shakin’ so much?” As Atlas finished his sentence, there was a shift in Jack’s demeanor, and he stopped shaking altogether. That confused, hurt expression was still there. “There you go.” Atlas chuckled, patting Jack on the shoulder, which made the boy wince slightly. Even so, the pain seemed to be less intense than a few mere moments before.

“Now, go. And remember to close the door and move the boxes out in front to hide it from sight, would you kindly?”

Jack simply nodded and lowered to the ground, opening the sliding wooden door and squeezing through before closing it all the way. Atlas could hear the sound of the boxes shifting into place and the boy’s footsteps getting further and further away until they were out of earshot.

With no regrets and that smug grin, Atlas whistled on the way back to his desk.


End file.
